A/N: Hi All. I've started another story but it's quite angsty, which I don't love, I might need your feedback on this one, not sure whether to continue with it or abandon it.

And I find the relationship between Ariadne and Jason quite sterile in the show. In A Fate Worse Than Death they didn't hold hands even when no-one was around, what's up with that? I like to think of them as being much more affectionate.

Set after the Grey Sisters.

Chapter 1

Jason didn't want to talk, didn't want to breathe, didn't want to do anything to break the mood as he and Ariadne reclined on a cushioned chaise in the palace courtyard, alone but for a guard always within sight of the queen who had retreated discreetly to a shadow.

Everything was still. The whole world was still and mute and private, the night sky made only for them and it filled Jason with a contentment he'd never experienced before. It was happiness and love and fulfillment and his life in perfect harmony. This is where he wanted to be. This is who he wanted to be with. The certainty of it was intoxicating, like the answer to a question he didn't even know he had asked. He let it wash over him, savored his joy, because it had been hard fought and a long time in coming. And he refused to contemplate all the different ways it could fall apart.

Ariadne's head rested on his chest and he stroked his fingers idly through her soft hair, breathed in her fresh floral scent, his other arm draped loosely across her back. He could feel her through the light gown, the way she curved, the way she moved, how warm she was, how slight she was. He had never held her before (other than when he thought she might die in his arms) and he loved the way she curled against him, how naturally they melded, their legs intertwined. It was so relaxed and normal, intimate and loving, and it was easy to forget for a while that they were an inappropriate match, that the ripples of discontent at their untraditional union could blossom into mutiny, could possibly cost Ariadne the throne.

"What are you thinking about?" Ariadne murmured.

"How perfect this is," Jason replied. "How perfect you are."

Ariadne raised her head and pressed her lips to his, kissed him sweetly, softly. His arms tightened around her but he made no demands on the kiss, content to follow her lead, because the relationship was hers to command. He would follow willingly, accept her affection readily, but he wouldn't push for more, not while their betrothal was still so new and her health still delicate.

It was less than a month since Ariadne had been stabbed by Medea. It had nearly been the death of her. They had looked at each other differently after, with a new awareness of life, how precious it was and that they needed to embrace their feelings for each other without regret or fear. He had attended the palace every day while she recuperated, not always gaining entry to her chamber, but when he did he was invariably delighted by how much better she looked, how her colour returned, how her strength returned, it felt like a journey they were taking together.

Tonight she was beautifully gowned, resplendently jeweled, carefully made up, she looked herself again, colour in her cheeks, gauntness subsiding. It was a rare opportunity to spend time alone. Jason was almost overwhelmed by the closeness, it was so new to him. They had spent years denying their feelings for each other, engaging with deliberate formality and distance and to have that dispensed with, to have her openly reciprocate his feelings and interact with affection was overpowering, it filled him with warmth.

Ariadne pulled out of the kiss, smiled lightly as she gazed into his eyes. "We should do this every night."

"We will," he promised.

She returned her head to his chest and he was glad he had gone to the trouble of buying a new shirt, spent every coin he had saved on fine linen, embroidered at the neck and hem with a patterned filigree. It was a much more appropriate pillow for a royal head than his usual rough garments.

"Are Hercules and Pythagoras nearby?" she asked.

"Probably," he returned lightly. "I think they're starting to consider themselves part of the royal household."

His friends had been allowed lenient access to the palace in recognition of their efforts to save the queen's life. They didn't quite abuse the privilege, although Hercules walked a fine line, but they eagerly attended the palace when Jason did, Pythagoras to bury himself in the library, Hercules to sample the wares in the kitchen.

"Perhaps I should find them positions," Ariadne mused.

Jason gave a soft chuckle. "I don't know that you really want them on staff," he joked, and immediately felt disloyal because they were good men, honest and brave, better friends than he'd ever had and certainly deserving of a royal appointment, if that was what they wanted. "No, you're right. Perhaps when we're married you should find them positions. Then I could see them everyday without having to go all the way to our house."

She shifted a little in his arms. "You understand that when we are married it won't be so easy to visit your house. There will be a retinue everywhere you go. The palace will need to know where you are at all times."

"Of course," he soothed, while his brow creased. "We'll sort it all out later."

He hadn't considered that the marriage would involve a loss of freedom, that his activities would be curtailed. It made sense that his life would become more structured, he just hadn't thought that far ahead. Even now it seemed so distant, he and Ariadne being married, there was growing unrest about their union and a wedding seemed a remote idea.

"Perhaps Hercules and Pythagoras could form part of your personal staff," Ariadne suggested.

Jason's eyes widened. He was going to have personal staff? Whatever for? But he returned nonchalantly, "Maybe. I'm sure Hercules would love to serve me." He smiled at the thought of it, how indignant his friend would be at taking orders from him.

Jason got the sense that he was going to buck some trends when he and Ariadne were wed. He wasn't born into a royal household and he wasn't going to have the same fervor to follow tradition, and the constraint and expectation were going to be new to him, difficult to swallow. He anticipated a difficult settling in period. Getting married was going to challenge their relationship in new ways.

"Do you smell smoke?" Ariadne asked, and lifted her head to look around.

"Yes," Jason returned slowly.

The palace was somewhat removed from the city and even though most citizens cooked over an open flame it was unusual to smell smoke. And tonight there was no breeze to carry it. He gently shifted the queen from his chest, slid her sideways so that she was fully on the chaise and gained his feet to pace slowly around the courtyard. When he was hard against the boundary wall he could see a plume of smoke rising in the darkness behind the building. Too close.

He strode back to the chaise and Ariadne was now perched on the edge, waiting expectantly. Her brow knitted as he neared, able to read the concern in his expression. "What is it?"

Jason reached for his sword, hung across the back of the chair and slung the band over his head. "I think there may be a fire in the palace grounds."

He looked around for the guard, to escort Ariadne to safety while he investigated. But there was no soldier in sight, the shadows appeared empty.

"Guard," he called loudly. When no guard was revealed it made Jason deeply uneasy. He carefully drew his sword, his eyes ranging the area. There were flaming torches dotted around the edge of the courtyard, but they only dimly lit the large square.

He offered his hand to Ariadne and pulled her to a close stand.

"Do you think perhaps the guard went to investigate the fire?" Ariadne asked quietly, wondering what the absence meant just as Jason was.

He shouldn't have, Jason thought, but he answered uncertainly, "I don't know. But I think perhaps we ought to leave the palace." He tried not to sound alarming, tried not to give the impression that maybe Ariadne was in danger, but it was what his senses were telling him.

He entwined his fingers in hers, gave them an encouraging squeeze and led her across the square. They would have to go into the palace in order to get out, there was no exit from the courtyard.

Toward the fire his mind was telling him. It seemed instinctually wrong, but that's where the people would be, soldiers would be there trying to douse the flames, and right now he wanted safety in numbers. They could avoid the flames, he was certain of it, certain that it was an outlying building on fire.

As they stepped into the corridor, Jason could feel how deserted the building was, missing the usual household sounds, without the bustle of staff, and it sent a prickle down his spine. He kept Ariadne close to his back, walked with his sword defensively raised. The blazing sconces on the wall were hopelessly inept, allowing for deep shadows all around them.

There was a flash of movement in front of them, in a darkened corner where two walls intersected and Jason's body moved faster than his brain, his sword slashed left to knock aside a dagger hurtling toward them, but neither body nor brain anticipated the second dagger following close behind. Jason felt the force of it like a punch to the shoulder, gave a soft grunt of surprise, and then it bloomed into stinging pain.

He gritted his teeth and ignored it for a moment, took quick steps in chase of the attacker who bounded out of the shadows, a man swathed in black cloth, who fled down the corridor away from them on silent feet. Jason stopped at the corner, aware that chasing the attacker would mean leaving Ariadne and he wasn't willing to do that. He turned and strode stiffly back to her, trying to keep his face composed, trying not to betray how much his shoulder burned.

The light colored shirt showed clearly the spread of blood down his chest, and the dagger embedded to the hilt below his left collarbone. Ariadne's hand went to her mouth as he approached.

"Jason," she cried in dismay, and took a hesitant step toward him.

"Don't..." With a hand raised he halted her, tilted his head apologetically, not wanting to be touched, bumped, every muscle clenched and tense.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, the pain making him hot, prickly and uncomfortable, his skin craved a cool breeze. The knife had to come out. He could feel the weight of it, could feel the sharpness of it deep inside, and it had to come out, he couldn't stand it. But he wouldn't ask Ariadne to do it.

He thrust the wooden handle of his sword toward her. "Take this," he instructed tautly and she did so absently, without looking at it, her eyes unable to leave his bloodied shoulder.

The wall offered the support he needed, stone blocks sturdy and immoveable held his weight as he leaned heavily against it for a moment, taking in steadying breaths. Very carefully he sank to the ground, twisting to sit with his back against the rough stone, legs stretched out in front.

"I'll go and find help," Ariadne said decisively.

"No," Jason returned sharply. Roaming the building on her own was a terrible idea. "Stay close. Give me a minute."

His tentative fingers wrapped around the protruding hilt, and even that hurt, the lightest pressure on the knife was amplified inside him. Be ready, he told himself. Be ready. With Ariadne beside him, watching with haunted eyes, he couldn't cry out when he removed the knife, he had to bottle as much as he could. It was going to test him and he sent a silent prayer to heaven seeking strength. With gritted determination he tightened his grip, sucked in a breath and pulled on the knife as hard as he could.

Everything darkened for a moment. He was vaguely aware of his hand dropping nervelessly into his lap and the knife clattering to the floor, and then it was just wave after wave of pain, more than it felt like he could endure. It buried him. The agony took away sight and sound, sense and reason. It was all he could do just to breathe. Just breathe. And he was aware of nothing beyond what was happening inside him.

It felt like a long time that he sat there half aware. You need to move, his mind urged. Ariadne's in danger. You need to move. But it was impossible. He was numb all over, in a dazed fog, and there was no way he could move, no matter how much he wanted to.

Slowly, by degrees, his shoulder settled, the scream subsided. It still thumped hard, throbbed in time with his heartbeat, but the burning, stinging, cutting pain abated. He sighed with relief at the worst of it being over, his breath coming more easily, and shut his eyes for a moment to gather himself.

"Jason?" Ariadne's voice was shrill, alarmed that he had closed his eyes, and he opened them for her benefit.

"Yes," he gasped, and made an effort to meet her gaze, to reassure her.

"Keep your eyes open," she ordered, tone clipped and terse and if Jason could have summoned any humor he might have found that funny, that she was ordering him not to pass out. As if her regal power extended that far. As if he had any control over it.

Ariadne was kneeling beside him, long hair tickling his cheek as she pressed her hands against the wound, bunching his shirt to soak up the blood. The siege of Atlantis had trained her in blood and injury. When the Colcheans had forced their way into the city all those months ago, the queen had unflinchingly administered to the wounded, and she wore that fortitude now, a thin lipped determination to be of assistance and not worry for her own safety.

She is so exposed, he thought. She had her back to the world, an easy target, anyone could come up behind her, she wasn't making any effort to protect herself.

"There is so much blood," she muttered, shaking her head lightly. "It won't stop."

"We- we have to move," he breathed. "We have to leave." It was draining to talk, he hoped he wouldn't have to do much of it, that she would listen and act. And even though he spoke of action, inertia had him firmly in its grip, his body at rest desperately wanted to stay at rest.

"You can't move," she dismissed, like the idea was ridiculous. "There is a river of blood at your shoulder."

It struck him as ironic that only a few weeks ago the positions had been reversed, and he had fretted as blood poured out of her. It was an awful position to be in, watching helplessly as the one you loved suffered, he could genuinely sympathize with her. At least he had the benefit of Pythagoras then, the man was a real comfort in a crisis, calm and unflappable. He wished his friend was here now, to take the burden from Ariadne, tell them what needed to be done, and give them confidence that everything would be alright.

Ariadne twisted her head left and right, looking all around. "Where are the guards?"

Good question, he thought. They were either lying dead on the ground or paid off because someone should have been here by now, especially with a fire on the grounds. Something was happening in the palace, someone was unfolding a plan, it was elaborate and coordinated and his mind went immediately to Pasiphae, the woman was single minded in her determination to claim the Atlantis throne.

Footsteps could be heard approaching and Ariadne's shoulders sagged in relief, anticipating someone from the royal household, but Jason considered it could just as easily be someone to finish them off, or take them prisoner, and it was the impetus he needed to start moving. If someone was going to throw knives at them again they were in real trouble, but he could at least meet the threat on his feet.

"Pick up the sword," he commanded in a low voice.

Ariadne glanced anxiously at him and did as he bid, dropped her bloodied hands from his shoulder and wound her fingers around the leather grip.

"You think it could be the enemy?" she asked quietly.

"I think we should be prepared," he returned.

She inclined her head tautly and gained her feet, facing in the direction of the approaching footsteps.

With superhuman effort, and strong support from the wall, Jason levered himself to a stand, locking his knees to keep him upright. His shoulder hated him for it. Pounding filled his ears and set his teeth on edge and he pressed the heel of his hand hard against the wound, trying to calm its angry treachery.

"Come closer, and give me the sword," he whispered.

Ariadne looked sideways at him, uncertain about his ability to wield a weapon, but complied with his request, handed him the sword, and he took a few steps away from the wall, remarkably steady steps, his posture remarkably straight. "Behind me," he directed, and made sure in his periphery that he covered her well, raised the sword before him and tried to look like he was ready for a fight.

"I think they're in the courtyard," Hercules could be heard, and Jason felt weak with relief.

"Do you really have any idea where they are or are we going to traipse the whole palace looking for them?" Pythagoras returned, the voices getting closer.

"Thank God," Jason muttered, and let the sword fall to his side, all the energy he had summoned leaving in a rush, making him sag and sway. He stumbled a few steps backward, Ariadne side-stepping quickly, until he felt the wall at his back. Ariadne dusted concerned fingers lightly across his chest as she peered at him, gauging him cursorily with a furrowed brow.

Hercules strode around the corner, Pythagoras close behind, and the big man stopped at the sight of the couple, flicking his brows up and down, pleased to see them.

"There you are. There's a fire," Hercules announced, both gesturing and looking behind. "Someone said the armory."

"Jason!" Pythagoras cried in alarm, more perceptive than his large friend, and took hurried steps to reach the injured man. "What happened?"

Pythagoras' fingers pulled at the rip the knife had made in the shirt, trying to view what lay under, and then he ripped the material further, spread the linen apart to get a clearer view.

Jason grunted at the pull, a little nauseous as the movement rocked him. "Later Pythagoras," he said and weakly pushed aside the probing hands. "We have to get Ariadne out of the palace."

"I don't think this can wait," Pythagoras returned grimly.

"What happened?" Hercules exclaimed, and lifted his hands in confusion, looking around trying to figure it out. "I thought it was just dinner. What happened?"

"Someone tried to kill us," Ariadne replied bitterly.

"There's an assassin in the palace," Jason added, glancing around nervously, worried about how loud they were, feeling vulnerable. "We have to leave."

"Just wait," Pythagoras urged, and cast serious eyes at Jason. "You are not going to get very far when you are bleeding this freely."

Jason pressed his lips together, impatient with Pythagoras' concern, and beckoned Hercules closer with a jerk of his head. "Come here. Let me lean on you," he demanded, and knew it was a bit abrupt, a bit imperious.

Hercules raised an eyebrow at the command. "He's acting royal already," he muttered under his breath.

"Jason." There was pleading and reproach in Pythagoras large expressive eyes. "Let me attend to the injury first and then we can get the Queen out of the palace."

"No," Jason replied firmly. "Queen first."

Pythagoras took a miffed step back, shifted his gaze to the queen and shrugged helplessly. "Perhaps you could talk some sense into him."

Ariadne shifted in front of Jason, chided him with her dark eyes, stroked fingers down his cheek and already he knew that whatever she commanded he would do, he couldn't say no to her.

"You are very stubborn," she admonished and brushed her lips against his in a kiss soft and chaste and so welcome that he melted into it. She drew back and assessed him, then turned to Hercules and ordered, "Help him move."

Jason sighed in relief and felt a surge of affection for her at not trying to force him to submit to Pythagoras' ministrations, for her restraint and understanding.

Hercules circled around, positioned himself on Jason's right side, plucked the sword from his hand and passed it to Pythagoras, and wound Jason's arm around his neck. The big man wrapped an arm around Jason's midriff and shifted him away from the wall, taking his weight. Jason groaned, his face contorted at the movement, at the way it pulled on the wound, and pressed his jaw together, schooling his features.

"Ariadne, walk in front of us," Jason instructed through gritted teeth. "Pythagoras…" and suddenly he lost his train of thought. He was distracted by the possibility that perhaps there was more than one assassin on the grounds and it removed whatever he was about to say to Pythagoras from his mind. The mathematician looked at him expectantly and creased his forehead at the blank expression, raised his brows to Hercules as if to say you see? We need to tend to him.

Hercules finished the sentence, "Walk in front of the queen. Put her in the middle of us."

Yes, Jason thought. That was what he wanted to say. He made an effort to reel in his focus, only think of one thing at a time.

Pythagoras stationed himself at the head of the small group, handling Jason's sword gingerly, flicked his eyes anxiously to Hercules, then turned and led the group down the corridor, sword defensively raised in front of him.

After only a few steps Jason was overcome by the motion, badly affected. He couldn't match his pace to Hercules, his legs felt uncoordinated and weak. And the movement, the act of putting one foot in front of the other, jostled and jarred him, made worse by trying to follow Hercules gait, his body swung gracelessly and his shoulder screamed its objection. It was probably inevitable that his stomach should rise, but unwelcome nonetheless.

"I'm going to be sick," he informed his friend quietly, swallowing hard.

"Got it," Hercules clipped. "Give us a moment," he called to the duo in front, then added vaguely, "hide in the shadows." Without waiting for acknowledgment he slipped them sideways into the courtyard.

We're still in the courtyard, Jason thought with dismay. We've gone nowhere.

Hercules dragged Jason to a dark corner, placed a strong hand against his chest and eased him down to a kneel, maintaining his hold as Jason heaved and choked and moaned and might have cried in misery if Ariadne wasn't nearby. Hercules murmured a litany of platitudes, you're okay, you're fine, you'll be fine but Jason wasn't buying it, he was a long way from okay. Illness rolled over him in ebb and flow, he couldn't seem to master it, to get on top of it, he felt wretched and pitiful, and had an overwhelming urge to lie on the ground and close his eyes. Cool stone tiles against his clammy skin, collapse for his weary body, he wanted it desperately.

He was going to hold the group back, he knew it with a certainty. He was going to make their escape from the palace so slow. He was going to compromise Ariadne's safety.

When there was nothing left for his stomach to expel Jason let his head sag forward, exhausted, his whole body trembling. Hercules held his entire weight in the hand under his chest, he wasn't supporting himself at all, his strength was gone.

"Leave me," Jason groaned. "Just leave me here." He wasn't trying to be noble or brave, it was a matter of practicality, the group could make a much faster getaway without him.

"I don't think your bride would like that," Hercules jibed.

"Please," Jason said earnestly. "Leave me here and save Ariadne. I'll be fine." And at that moment he didn't care, didn't care, if he was fine or not, he just wanted Ariadne safely out of the palace.

"Lets keep going shall we?" Hercules returned, a hard edge to his voice, and he lifted Jason to his feet, as floppy as a rag doll, forced his arm around the bull neck and carried him to where their companions waited, Jason making little pretense at being capable.

Resentment welled inside Jason at being forced to stay with the group. His friends could get the queen out of the city, he trusted them completely, it wasn't necessary for him to come, it was foolish to drag him along.

"Oh Jason," Ariadne cried softly, with such dismay in her voice that he wondered at how terrible he must look. She hastened to his side, pushed fever damp strands of hair from his forehead, and examined his face critically.

"I'm fine," he offered weakly, and it was such an obvious lie that a small smile pulled at his lips.

"Perhaps we should tend to him first," she said, eyes on Hercules.

"If we don't get out of the palace we might all wind up getting knifed," Hercules replied evenly, and Jason was grateful for his sense. "We need to move faster."

"The secret passage," Jason uttered and Ariadne nodded in understanding.

Then it became a blur of floor for Jason, they moved at a dizzying pace and it was easier to keep his head down and measure their progress by the tiles on the ground. The secret passage wasn't far, and he would feel much more secure in an unknown part of the building.

At the first corner they found one of the queen's soldiers lying on the ground, a knife sticking out of his chest.

"Take the shield," Hercules instructed Pythagoras. "And hand Ariadne the sword."

In the distance there were sounds of fighting, the clang of metal, cries of men and the screams of women.

"What is going on?" Ariadne quietly exclaimed.

"I don't think we want to find out," Hercules returned grimly. "Just keep moving."

It was only a few minutes before Ariadne said, "Here," and halted before a large tapestry hanging from the ceiling. She withdrew a key from somewhere within the folds of her dress, it had been skillfully concealed, and Jason was mildly disturbed that she was apparently always prepared for an emergency exit. She pushed the tapestry aside and unlocked the hidden door that lay behind.

The passage was pitch black. Ariadne removed the lighted torch from the sconce next to the door and entered first. The men followed quickly and she pulled the door closed, locking it behind them. She moved to the front of the group and began to lead them through the secret passage but Hercules called, "Wait. Wait. What's our plan? Where are we going?"

There was silence for a moment as they each considered the next step. "The Oracle?" Pythagoras ventured.

"Too close," Jason murmured. "We need to put some distance between the queen and the palace."

"What about our house?" Hercules suggested.

"Really?" Jason returned with ill humour.

"What?" Hercules said, not following the objection. "It's not that close."

"We should hide in our own house?"

"It's not the queen's house," he protested. "Who will know?"

"I've been at the palace every day for the last month. I don't think it will be hard to figure out."

Hercules lapsed into silence, and Jason exhaled a long breath, regretting his sharp tongue. Even though he was supporting little of his weight he felt strained and weary, his legs were rubbery and useless, his shoulder throbbed with torturous constancy. He knew he was in terrible shape, and he knew how it would progress. Pretty soon he would pass out, his friends would have to bear his burden and he hated it, hated being the burden. He wanted to suggest once again that they leave him, that it was the sensible course but he was pretty sure it would meet with resistance and he didn't have the energy for an argument.

"The forest," Jason declared, without any enthusiasm.

Pythagoras drew up close, mouth tight with discontent. Even clutching a sword and shield he didn't look ferocious, it made him look awkward and gangly.

"I cannot begin to tell you what a bad idea that is," he said quietly, eyes dipping to the bloody shoulder.

"I can't disagree," Jason returned tiredly. "But it's our only option."

Pythagoras turned stiffly to Ariadne. "Your majesty, what would you have us do?"

"I know of a cottage in the forest, perhaps we could aim for that." Her brow knitted as she added, "Although it is rustic. And far." She appraised Jason doubtfully.

"The forest it is then," Hercules said, and Jason sucked in a breath as they started moving again.